She's two hundred years old
So mean she couldn't grow no lips
Boy, she'd be in trouble if she
Tried to grow a mustache
She's two hundred years old
Squattin' down & pockin' up
In front of the juke box
Like she had true religion, boy
Like she had true religion
She's two hundred years old
Hoy hoy, 200 years old
Half of this, none of that,
One-fifty oh squattin'
Yeah-ah, ain't she got
Religion now, boy